


More than just his boss

by Rionam



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 05:56:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9478547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rionam/pseuds/Rionam
Summary: A post-season 4 fic; after they fail to bring the killers in alive again, Chandler needs to get away from it all. Kent is more than willing to go with him.





	

The pseudo-party in the incident room had fallen silent. They had all heard Miles’ side of the phone conversation, which translated quickly and easily that something terrible had happened. And the fact he said all of them, every single one of them in the van? Pretty much confirmed all of their worst fears. 

The killers were dead. They, Chandler, had failed to bring them in alive yet again. 

Kent’s blood, which had been fizzing with the possibly of going for a drink with the boss, had run cold. Of course, of course, when something this good happened to him it was instantly stripped away. Couldn’t they have made it to the pub, at least, before the bloody murderers had to die? Could he have had one moment with Chandler, away from the death and misery of the station, before this had to happen?

He watched Miles’ resigned face, the lines in his face seemingly deepening. The Sergeant took a deep breath, muttering under his breath, before talking heavy steps towards the boss’ office. Kent could see Chandler had his back to the door and Miles walked around the side of him, so he couldn’t see their expressions. But he knew it wasn’t a happy conversation. Whatever Chandler had been holding fell to the ground and his whole body shook. No, it wasn’t good news. 

Kent felt something in his chest twist at the sight of Chandler so obviously in pain. He’d come to terms years ago that his crush on the boss was a little more than a crush. He didn’t really care about his own feelings, just wanted to see Chandler smile or even have a little bit of happiness in his life. Like now, for example; of course Kent was gutted the killers were dead, but it was nothing compared to the pain of knowing how Chandler would react. He’d be devastated, Kent knew he staked his whole self-worth on bringing one in alive. And now seven of them were dead. 

He turned to Mansell who was standing to his left, concealing the rage he felt at seeing his sister’s name pop up on his phone. Kent knew this was a time for maturity and grace. With a deep breath he tapped on his shoulder, “What do you reckon has happened?”

Mansell looked up, obviously trying to look sombre but he evidently was delighted to be back with Erica. He shrugged, glancing at where Miles’ was comforting Chandler with a hand on his shoulder.

“Ever so helpful,” Kent commented scathingly, following Mansell’s gaze to his superior officers. He frowned, “I guess we wont be going to the pub, then.”

His partner chuckled, “No shit, Sherlock.” But then his smirk grew wider, “You never know. Maybe the boss’ll want to drown his sorrows.”

Kent shook his head and tried to dampen the flicker of hope that sprung up in his chest. Sure, it wouldn’t be the celebratory, jovial drink he was planning but perhaps he could be there for Chandler? Spend time with him outside of the office and show him they could be more? Even if just friends, Kent was that desperate at this point. 

This was the moment Miles decided to emerge from the office, his body slightly blocking the figure of Chandler frantically picking up paper from the floor and arranging them on his desk. Immediately Buchan was at his side, his eyes wide and worried. 

“What’s happened, Miles?” Buchan’s shaking voice carried and pulled in the other officers from their various places around the incident room. They gathered around their sergeant. 

Miles gave a deep sigh, “Unfortunately there was a road accident involving the van carrying our suspects. The whole thing blew up, no survivors.” He closed his eyes and the skin around his lips tightened, “Apparently a little old lady walked out into the road.”

A collected gasp and whisper passed around the room. Buchan was the only one who dared to say it, “Louise Iver?”

Without flinching Miles ignored Buchan’s comment, opening his eyes again and returning to a business-like manner, “I’m going to take his nibs home, he’s going to need some rest before he has to deal with this load of pig shit.”

Kent spoke before he even knew what he was saying “I’ll take him!” He despised how desperate his voice sounded, how everyone turned to look at him. 

Miles looked minutely amused, “I’m not sure about you but I don’t reckon the boss’ll appreciate a ride on the back of that infernal scooter.”

His whole faced flushed. Why did he even say that? Somehow in the heat of the moment he forgot that he didn’t drive a vehicle that was even capable of giving someone a lift home, what an embarrassing thing to do. He pretended he couldn’t hear the muffled laughter of his colleagues as he pulled on his coat and scarf, knowing he’d pretty much incriminated himself in how much he liked the boss. Of course, they’d all known deep down for years. 

The rest of the team were talking amongst themselves now, whispering ideas about the supernaturally-prone old lady that had been haunting them. He couldn’t quite make it to the door without being stopped, though. Riley made a beeline for him as soon as she realised he was leaving.

“You know we’re all joking,” She told him sympathetically, nodding at the other members of the team, “It’s… cute how much you care about him.”

“Cute,” Kent repeated in disgust, “Great, thanks.”

Riley sighed, “Oh you know what I mean! We all saw you asking him out before.” She smiled knowingly.

He felt a bit sick imagining the team, Chandler particularly, seeing him as some kind of love sick puppy. Cute, Christ, that certainly wasn’t how he wanted to be perceived. 

Kent spoke bitterly, “I only asked if he’d come for a drink with all of us.”

With a final glance back at Chandler’s office, he noted that he had somehow slipped out whilst they’d all been talking. Kent instantly knew where he’d be, and if he went now he could even beat Miles to it. Calling his goodbye’s over his shoulder, Kent hurried out of the incident room and away from Riley, almost slipping on the stairs in his haste to reach the least grimy toilets in the station.

At the door he considered knocking, but since he shouldn’t really be following Chandler here anyway, he decided to just walk in.

Chandler was stood over the sink, his hands bracing either side as he stared at his own reflection in the mirror. Kent could see the tears sprouting from the corner of his eyes and tried not to feel winded at the sight of his boss so undone. 

“Miles I don’t need you to-“ 

His voice came out frustrated and Chandler turned around quickly, stopping rigid when he realised it wasn’t his sergeant who’d followed him. Instantly he straightened his back, tugging at the sleeves and lapels of his jacket, “Kent. Sorry, I didn’t realise you’d…”

“It’s okay. Sir.” Kent tried a small smile but even that felt fake on his lips, “You weren’t to know.”

Chandler stared at the other man intensely, nodding slowly. 

Kent turned his attention to the sink Chandler had abandoned. The thing had been scrubbed within an inch of it’s life and he doubted the cleaners had provided the expensive soap sitting on the edge. Obviously his boss’ OCD was acting up again. Kent had watched Chandler for years with something between fascination and heartbreak at the way a dripping tap or rubbish strewn crime scene could turn the strongest man into a shaking, light switch flicking mess. 

“Are you okay sir?” Of course he wasn’t. “Stupid question, I mean is there anything I can do?”

Chandler looked completely broken. It seemed an answer was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet Kent’s searching eyes. He sighed, “I just need to get out of here.”

Kent frowned, things must really be bad if Chandler wanted to leave work. He was a man who solved problems by working harder and longer, only ever really leaving the station when forced to by Miles. Kent found his reply leaving his lips before he’d even had the chance to think, “Skip said he’ll drop you off at home.” Realising instantly that telling Chandler this contradicted his whole reason for following him here. He groaned internally. 

Unusually, Chandler didn’t perk up at this. In fact, his frown grew deeper, “That’s probably code for taking me to his home for a home cooked meal with Judy.” Chandler looked less than impressed by this idea, “He wont want me on my own after… What happened.”

The words fell out of Kent’s mouth before he could stop them, “We can hang out, if you want. Sir.” 

Kent despised how the words ‘hang out’ sounded in front of Chandler. He couldn’t stand the desperation, the hope in his tone. Why would Chandler want to spend tonight with him if he’d already rejected the idea of spending time with Miles? What was he even offering?

However, Chandler seemed to be considering the option Kent had offered. The seconds stretched out long and tense as Kent watched his boss toy with the idea of actually spending time with him, alone, outside of work. He was rewarded with a small smile from Chandler.

“Yes. Yes, I think I’d like that,” Chandler seemed calmed by this idea, “We did say we would go for a drink, after all.”

Kent nodded, slightly breathless at the prospect. He failed to mention that the agreed drink had included the rest of the team, since it seemed Chandler had received his intentions loud and clear. Whether Chandler knew the extent of his intentions that was another matter entirely. When his mind cleared, however, a slight smirk pulled at his lips, “We’ll need to go quickly, sir, so Miles doesn’t catch you and force casserole down your throat.”

“Let’s go then.” Chandler almost smiled and shrugged on his coat which was hanging on the back of the door. 

The pair walked side by side out of the station, ignoring the sounds of Miles following them as they sped up. Kent found himself laughing as the double doors to the station slammed closed behind them, leaving a very confused sergeant standing on the other side watching the two walk quickly out into the night. 

The street was dark and cold outside; the peace and quiet almost an insult to the pain and tragedy that had befallen Whitechapel. They walked silently, both Chandler and Kent lost in their own thoughts. Kent was trying in vain to think up conversation starters for in the pub, suddenly struck with the idea that their drink might be awkward and uncomfortable. He’d always found himself planning conversations, predicting outcomes, a symptom of his nerves and anxiety that came with his feeling for his boss. It never worked out how he planned, though.

A girl further down the street suddenly screamed out and both men started, ready to jump into action. However, the girl was with a group of friends and the laughter echoing down the street proved it was not a cry of pain; just proving how conditioned they were to hearing suffering in the slightest of things. Kent choked out a laugh and Chandler joined him, both shaking their heads at the ridiculousness of it all. 

By the time they reached the door of a nearby pub (that Kent knew Chandler was comfortable with the cleanliness standards of (but also wasn’t the one the team regularly used)) both men were breathless and slightly giddy, their daring escape a distraction from the pain and death that had caused it. 

Kent wanted to say something then, but Chandler quickly nodded his head towards the bar and left him standing at the door, obviously needing a drink after the shock of that evening. The younger officer rubbed a nervous hand over his face and claimed a table in the corner, slightly obscured from the rest of the pub. Although not their usual haunt, he imagined Mansell, Riley and even Buchan suddenly bursting in and seeing him and the boss sat alone together. The idea was both nerve-wracking and exciting; what would they even think? Would they just assume it was a work thing, or something more?

His phone suddenly vibrated in his breast-pocket and with a slightly unsteady grip he pulled it out.

From: Erica

Finlay told me what happened. Sorry, Em.

He winced and quickly typed out a response.

To: Erica

It’s fine. Shit, but fine. 

Kent looked up from his phone and saw Chandler weaving his way through the Friday night crowd with a pint and a glass of whiskey, his face showing signs again that he was thinking about what happened. Kent was distracted by his phone going again.

From: Erica

Where are you, by the way? Finlay said you’re not with the team but your vespa is at work. Apparently HE’s gone as well ;)

His greeting to Chandler suddenly caught in his throat, that last comment insinuated that Mansell had… Oh god, that sounded like Mansell was talking to his sister about him and the DI disappearing off together, and if he’d noticed then the others must have also noticed… Kent felt a bit sick.

“You okay, Kent?” 

Chandler was sitting across from him looking concerned, his hand grasping the whiskey as if it was all anchoring him to the table at that moment. 

Kent tried a smile, “Yeah it’s fine. Just, my sister, you know?”

He did know. Chandlers lips stretched to a thin line and Kent knew he was recalling his fight with Mansell. One in a list of stupid decisions he’d been making recently.

Kent fired off another text and stored away his phone again.

To: Erica

Piss off. 

He turned his attention to the pint of fruit cider sitting in front of him, feeling a buzz of happiness that Chandler had remembered what he liked. That first sip was perfect, it cured his parched throat and the alcohol helped him relax a little. He felt almost jealous of the hard liquor Chandler was nursing, but he knew something like that would drink him into saying something he’d regret. 

Kent looked up at his boss, trying not too look to patronisingly sympathetic as he knew Chandler hated that, “Do you want to, you know…”

Chandler shook is head firmly, “No I don’t want to talk about it. I want to forget the whole sorry business.”

“Probably best,” Kent agreed, feeling very happy about this arrangement. The British mind-set; ignore all problems until they were to big to deny. He imagined, however, that after a few drinks they would find themselves back on the topic of failed cases and brutal deaths. As the whole team usually did. He quickly changed the subject, “Do you reckon Skip’ll be annoyed we just left like that?”

The DI raised an eyebrow and almost grinned, likely recalling their daring escape. He soon became solemn again, though, “I’m sure he’ll find me eventually. We’ll need to have a ‘chat’ about my tendencies not getting away from me again. They usually do, after…”

Kent knew he was referring to the OCD that plagued his DI at times like this. He had already noticed Chandler had rearranged the beer mats and menus on the table to perfect right angles, but didn’t feel right to comment. “You know he does it because he cares,” he wanted to add that he cared, too, but he didn’t dare. 

“I know,” Chandler sighed deeply, somehow looking troubled by the knowledge that somebody cared about him. 

There was a pause as both men took long sips of their drinks. Kent thought long and hard about how to phrase his next words, wanting to say something of comfort but not come across as overly involved.

“I… We… The whole team cares about you. We really want to make sure you’re okay,” Kent stammered, his eyes fixed firmly on the condensation dripping down his glass. As they always did around Chandler, whatever he said seemed clumsy and imprudent.

“Hey,” Chandler spoke warmly and Kent glanced up, his eyes locking with the older man’s, “I know you do. Thank you.”

Kent couldn’t help the pink flush creeping up his neck onto his cheeks. He took a long drink of his pint and finished it off, enjoying the lightly woozy feeling growing in his head. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d eaten, it was probably the dry toast he’d jammed in his mouth on his way out that morning. Hardly enough lining in his stomach to be drinking heavily, but needs must. He barely ever ate properly on cases, anyway.

“I’ll get us another drink, sir,” Kent announced, noticing Chandler had also drained his glass. Before the other detective could respond he rose, taking both glasses in the direction of the bar. 

Chandler called out after him, actually smiling, “Joe!”

The flush grew red and warm on Kent’s cheeks, imagining calling Chandler by his first name. They were barely on surname terms even in his mind. Although it felt reckless to indulge in the thought, Kent’s mind wandered into territory of imagining this could be the start of something. As he waited at the bar he recalled the various daydreams he’d collected about his boss; kisses at crime scenes, comforting after-hours in the incident room, even a particularly bold daydream about going home with Chandler….

Not that Kent had any kind of preconception that things would ever go that far. He’d never even entertained the possibility that his feelings would be reciprocated, struggling to believe Chandler (Joe?) would ever see him as anything other than his idiot DC. Perhaps back when they’d first met, before the betrayals and fights, before they were named the worst team in the Met, he could have thought about it… But he’d moved on, hardened. Erica had even set him up on a few dates with some of her mates.

It had never worked out, though. Whenever he’d met the bloke, whoever he was, there’d be that thought at the back of his mind. Chandler wouldn’t do that. You should be working. What if someone dies tonight and you were out drinking with some random guy? Kent could never get rid of the guilt. 

Soon enough another pint for him and a whiskey for Chandler were placed in front of him, and he paid quickly. Sipping at his drink as he walked, he made his way back over to Joe, who looked as though he’d been thinking things over as well. He had that rabbit in the headlights look as if he was reliving the murders over again – which, knowing him, he most likely was.

“You okay?” Kent asked seriously, sitting down. He decided to add, “Joe?”

Chandler blinked twice. “Mmm, what? Oh.” His expression hardened, “Not really.”

“Please don’t be too hard on yourself. You couldn’t have known,” Kent sighed. It hurt in his chest to see Joe so distraught. 

The older man let out a bitter laugh and pulled out a pile of torn paper wrapped meticulously with a rubber band. He placed it in front of Kent, “I could have, though.”

It seemed Joe had gathered the paper he had dropped on the floor in his office, they were obviously important so Kent carefully unwrapped them and spread them across the table. With Joe’s help they rearranged the pieces until they proclaimed their prophetic message; don’t put them all in the same van.

Kent let out a breath of air he didn’t know he was holding. Where had Joe got this from? How long had he had it? He didn’t think himself a superstitious person but as premonition goes, this one was pretty outright. 

“The psychic. She said this was a message from my dad. She gave it to Miles to give to me; I didn’t open it because I didn’t want to know what he had to say,” Chandler was shaking slightly, he had a look of a man condemned, “I didn’t even think about it until… until…”

Kent reached and found himself placing a pale hand over Joe’s jittering one, trying not to enjoy the warm that radiated from their joined fingers. He spoke quietly, “It’s not your fault, Joe.”

“How could it not be? The Ripper, the Krays, the Abrahamians; all dead.”

As Chandler listed, he gripped Kent’s hand back with enough force to turn his knuckles white. The DC didn’t mind, however, whether or not Joe was consciously aware they were holding hands, it was closer than they’d ever been before.

“We’re a team. The killers might be dead, but the failure falls on all of us. If there’s a curse, not that I think there is, it’s on the whole team, not just you.”

“But I’m your DI. I should be leading you all in a way that means we’re catching these people, not letting them die over and over again.”

“You are leading us, Sir. We’re so much better since you became our DI. Things have been awful recently, for all of us. But no one blames you.”

“I blame me.”

Chandler was visibly in pain now. His eyes were wide and staring, unshed tears welling in the corners and threatening to spill down his pale face. Kent could see the pain of the deaths had been taking a far greater toll on the DI than he or anyone else hand known and his heart was breaking at the sight of him. 

Kent squeezed his hand harder, “Well I don’t. And you shouldn’t either.”

“What if this,” Chandler gestured roughly with their joined hands at the paper, scattering a few of the pieces, “Means Buchan’s bloody PR lady is right. That some demon is responsible for cursing me and its not going to stop until I resign or…”

Kent didn’t want to think about what that or meant. He quickly used his free hand to collect the paper and wipe the message from the table, knowing it wasn’t helping to speak of demons and evil as if they were commonplace in the world. 

“Come on. There are no demons. You are not cursed. Its just a streak of rotten luck and a horrible old lady out there to scare us,” Kent rationalised, comforting himself as much as Chandler with his words, “Who knows. Maybe Miles is using Louise Iver to scare you into giving him the DI position before he retires.”

Joe choked out a half laugh at Kent’s cheeky grin, “Oh I don’t know. He’s more scared of her than the rest of us.”

“That’s true,” Kent agreed, feeling himself warm at the watery smile Joe gave him. 

They fell back into a companionable silence as they finished off their drinks. Kent couldn’t find it in his heart to let go of Joe’s hand, because if this was going to be the only time he could do it, he wanted it to last. So he drank using his left hand, taking great care not the dribble the purple liquid down his chin.

“I’m sorry.”

Kent started at the quiet words, looking up at Chandler who was gazing at their joined fingers.

“I know this probably wasn’t how you wanted to spend your evening. Talking about ghosts with your failure of a boss.” Chandler’s words had no bite, no emotion. Just what he appeared to think were stone cold facts.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” Kent responded. And it was true; he didn’t want to see his sister who would be all loved up with Mansell, he didn’t want Riley’s sympathy or Miles’ advice. Realising this, he made a decision, “And you’re more than that.”

Chandler stiffened, shaking his head, “I don’t want to talk about whether or not I’m a failure anymore. I’m tired of justifying my shortcomings because-“

“No,” Kent interrupted, “I mean; you’re more than just my boss.”

He dropped Kent’s hand as if it burned. Fear settled into the DI’s face as he realised the implications of his inferior officer’s words. 

Kent regretted saying anything the moment he saw that look in Joe’s eyes. He’d been reading the signs wrong, that much was obvious. Chandler was straight, it was inappropriate, he saw him as a friend, as a colleague… Fuck, this was bad. Luckily he hadn’t implicated himself completely, Chandler would want to forget this ever happened and he was more than happy to give that to him.

Chandlers words were careful, “Look, Kent, I know-“

“No! No…” Kent jumped in immediately, raising his hands in mock self defence, “I didn’t mean.”

“I had an idea for a while… Miles, he told me-“

“It’s not what you think! No-“

“If you have… Feelings-“

“Honestly, sir you’ve got the wrong end of the stick-“

“It would be wrong, inappropriate-“

“Please! No-“

“I’m not saying that I don’t… That I haven’t…”

Kent stopped his pleading instantly, the words dying in his throat. He stared at Joe with bated breath, barely allowing himself to entertain the idea that he was saying what he thought he was. 

“Look. I’m a very particular man. You know that,” Chandler’s expression was tight, pained, “I have never allowed myself to consider… Whatever I feel, if I really feel this way, it doesn’t matter. I am your DI, I’m living with mental illness… It wouldn’t be fair on either of us for me to let this go further.”

All of Kent’s breath escaped his lungs in one long gasp. He was… he was saying he felt the same. That he had feelings for him, as well! All these reason, these excuses, they could be worked on. This was hope.

“I don’t mind,” Kent said, trying desperately not to sound to earnest, “It’s not unfair if I don’t mind.”

Joe grimaced, “No, this could affect your career… You have no idea what I’m really like, you wouldn’t want to see me if you did.”

“To be frank, sir, if all of the misgivings of the past few years haven’t already ruined my career, I doubt this could. And of course I know what you’re like, we’ve worked together for years. We, and the team, have spent the worst and best times of our lives together.”

Chandler closed his eyes slowly, unable or unwilling to give Kent a coherent response. 

“If you don’t want to do this, that’s fine. Just don’t give me excuses, please.”

Kent glanced away quickly, blinking away the hot tears that always seemed to spring up when he was angry or frustrated. He couldn’t believe that Joe was admitting he actually felt something for him and yet he would let them explore it because of his own self esteem issues. This was something he’d never even considered; always assuming Joe didn’t feel the same way or couldn’t.

A hand on his shoulder caused him to turn back around quickly. He was staring into the face of Joe which was much too close, and he continued to stare as Joe pressed his lips to his. Joe was gentle but firm, kissing Kent in a way which told him he did feel the same way, that he had feelings just as much as Kent did. As Joe’s hand slipped into his curls, Kent’s eyes finally closed and he relaxed, gripping at Joe’s lapels as if it was all anchoring him to the group beneath his feet.

The kiss was chaste and simple, an expression of both comfort and emotion. When Joe finally pulled away, he simply moved his hand to cup Kent’s cheek and smiled, the pain of the day no longer marring his brow. 

“No excuses,” Chandler spoke softly and Kent had not even opened his eyes in fear this would all go away, “This isn’t going to be easy, but I’m willing to try if you are.”

Kent finally let himself look into Joe’s eyes and he found himself smiling widely, and nodding. He chuckled, “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

Joe laughed, stroking Kent’s cheek before dropping his hand, looking bashful. 

“I’m surprised Miles’ hasn’t managed to find us yet,” Kent said, reality beginning to set in over what they were doing. 

Chandler pulled out his phone which was muted, flicking through messages quickly. He smiled, “They’re at our usual pub. Miles says they’re waiting for us, ‘when we’re ready’.”

Kent frowned in confusion, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well he did see us leaving together…” Joe responded, his eyes still on the phone.

“You think he knows?”

Chandler sighed but his expression was still light, “I think everyone knows.”

Kent found himself laughing and checking his own phone, which had a message of similar sentiments from Mansell and Erica. The pair left their pub and walked to where the team had gathered hand in hand, to great applause when they reached their friends’ table. Congratulations and finally’s were thrown about and altogether a lot more hugs than either Chandler or Kent were comfortable with. But both were considerably flushed with happiness when they finally were able to sit together and exchange embarrassed smiles. 

Of course things weren’t perfect, far from it, and there was a long way to go. But in that crowded pub, with his favourite people surrounding them and Chandler’s hand in his, Kent knew things were going to be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if there's anyone out there that'll read this, but I recently watched whitechapel again and that ending kills me every time. Let me know if you enjoyed this


End file.
